Green Eyed Monster
by WhyAye
Summary: This is about as close to drabble as I get.  A real warm fuzzy for Robbie/Laura shippers.


I creep silently into the darkened room. I'm good at that kind of thing. Very good. I like to slip into a room without anyone knowing I'm there. That's just how I am.

I'm watching the man and the woman wrestling together on the bed. They mostly grunt and moan now, which is an improvement. Earlier, they were both being overly solicitous, asking each other every two seconds if this was what the man likes, or if the woman is sure she wants to do this. Really sugary and annoying. As though it isn't perfectly obvious they like everything and want it all. Destination: copulation; no question about it.

Me, I'm not one much for passionate encounters. They simply don't interest me. A good massage or a nice cuddle and I'm set. And I don't understand why he feels this sudden need to procreate. He's been perfectly in control of himself until tonight. This behavior is quite out of character for him and, I must say, I find it rather unattractive.

I can tell it's the first time they've attempted to mate like this. They're exploring everything about each other. In fact, it's her first time in the flat, though he's certainly shared her company before. Comes home smelling of her more often than not, these days. But he's never had that salty whiff of sex, the way he does now.

I don't know her name for sure, but I think it's "Gawd." Something like that. He keeps repeating it: "Gawd, you're beautiful," "Oh, Gawd, you feel so good," "Gawd, that's nice." That sort of mush. She seems to like it well enough, though, so I suppose he's making the right moves.

Now _his_ name, I do know. He's Lewis. He answers the telephone that way and when that tall man comes here, he always calls the man "Lewis." Or "Sir," but I know that's just a pet name. I like that tall man a lot. He rubs my ears and tickles my back. If he were the one under the covers with Lewis, I wouldn't mind so much. But Gawd? No. Just—_No_.

First of all, I thought Lewis and I had an understanding. Here, at the flat, it's me and him: partners. Mates. He takes care of me and I take care of him, calming him when he's agitated or worried or angry, waking him up if he falls asleep in the front room so he can move to the bedroom and spare his back. We share our space, our food, and our bed and we know when to keep out of each other's way. It works fine for us, exactly as it is.

And I understand I can't control him when he's out in the world, beyond my reach. He can be with Gawd all he likes then, and I've got no say in the matter. But this is my place, too, and he brought her here without so much as a mention and sat her down with no introductions. Brought her to our bed without so much as a by-your-leave. I am supremely put out by his utter disrespect for my feelings.

Okay, so I was under the big chair the whole time. But he didn't even attempt to find me. It was as though he'd completely forgotten about me, with her around.

No, this Gawd has to go.

When they went off to the bedroom, I swiped her wristwatch from where she left it on the coffee table. Just hooked it and then when it fell to the floor, gave it one swift shot toward the space under the bookshelf. Score! Yeah, spiteful and petty, I know. Felt good, though. Of course, if looking for it means she stays longer, I'll let them know where it is ASAP.

Have I mentioned I don't like her? She didn't ask about me, not once. He must have told her about me, I'm the only one he can talk to. I'm "the best thing that's happened to him" and "the only one who cares about him." He's actually said those things to me. And _not_ to her. Though he usually says that stuff when he's smelling like that foul amber liquid he drinks sometimes, but whatever. I don't see why that should make it any less sincere.

He didn't smell like that stuff tonight, though, and he didn't say any of those things tonight, either. And now he smells much worse than that drink. Not just like the soap in the bathroom, as he does in the mornings. Not like soap and sweat, as he does in the evenings. Not even like soap, sweat, and Gawd, as he does when he's been out with her. On top of all the usual smells, a pungent muskiness envelops him and scents the room, assailing my sensitive nostrils. I have to open my mouth and taste the air to sort out all the different odor threads. Oh, yeah. They're definitely mating now.

Their motion has become very rhythmic and the tempo is increasing. They're both breathing hard, and they are completely focused on each other. I could knock the lamp over and not get a response, I imagine. I position myself carefully, without a sound. I can see her foot protruding from the bedcovers. _Perfect_.

They are gasping, moaning, crying out, ever faster. I am infinitely patient. I always am. The right moment will come.

_Wait for it._

_Wait for it_ . . .

"Aw, Gawd, I'm coming!"

_Now._

Perfect timing, perfect landing. _Perfect scream_. Perfect four red dots on her largest toe.

I shoot from the room, fully energized by my coup. I can tell from the lack of iron taste in my mouth, I didn't even break the skin. It's all in fun, right?

"_Monty! You bloody pest!_"


End file.
